


Feeling

by sewn



Category: DC Extended Universe, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Benign Possession, F/F, Masturbation, Sharing a Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22609198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sewn/pseuds/sewn
Summary: Her vessel is scared.
Relationships: Enchantress (DCU)/June Moone
Comments: 16
Kudos: 59
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlsarewolves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/gifts).



Her vessel is scared.

She’s given her a name to call her in her language, and incentives to use it, but the vessel never does of her own accord. She’s soft and quivering, inhabiting dull places and repeating patterns she has no interest in when there are many other things they need to do.

She’ll have to show her.

That she’s here to help, to strengthen her.

*

She never loses time.

This is an instance she wishes she did. She never walks here, alone, at night, and even during the day, she walks briskly, not looking around, just at her sensible shoes. She never realized how tense she is whenever she’s making her way home until now, when her— _their_ —body feels relaxed, moving at ease.

Her senses are sharp but not on edge; she isn’t prey now.

The thing is, she doesn't want to be the predator either, doesn't want this taste in her mouth or this slipping, sliding thing in her hands.

Still, she remembers the feeling the next day, when she’s walking the same street as Dr June Moone, alert to any strangers, keeping her head down, avoiding eye contact out of instinct. She remembers how it feels like to be monstrous, to know you are not the flesh but the talon.

*

This vessel differs from her former ones. She didn't think the vessel would ignore the power.

Perhaps it is that this species has changed. The meaningless things the vessel ( _June_ ) does have an order to them; the life in her sparks through curious pathways.

There are always other things she can be gifted with.

*

Enchantress does not come from the outside. June feels it, not a sensation, not any rearrangement of her physiology, not even a thought. Miasmic and foreign, it's a crystallization, forcing the magma of her cells into a new formation.

It's what the Earth feels, she thinks, how it moves; it's not her that's smoke-wispy, breeze-soft, it's the rest of the world that turns to air that parts around her. She's Earth to Earth: it gives her way willingly. June never went this deep before, never had the interest, merely crawled in the skin, a termite, a parasite, an infection; now she's a bullet, though there is no blood spilled.

It's unnatural, in the strongest sense of the word. She never thought she'd feel ontological dread, but there it is.

*

She teaches the vessel, but it is still a fear. She wants her to know she is _with_ her.

And she is curious. June has a habit of wounding herself, meaningless cuts from corners or angles to be bumped into, her concentration somewhere else, but she never knows how it... feels. She’d forgotten that was an aspect of bodies. Of living.

*

June now appreciates any time she startles from her sleep and is herself. It’s a bleary hour, the kind that most beckons back into the embrace of oblivion, when it’s irritating more than anything that you’ve been robbed of the relief.

She has to be not quite herself, still, as she nevertheless slips out and her feet find their way to the bathroom.

She feels it on the tip of her tongue, like liquid held back, waiting until she needs to breathe.

"Enchantress."

Her body disappears, like she’s being submerged, drowned, only for her toes to find the bottom at the last second. When she looks her(self) in the eye, she sees her own blue not quite covered by the murky dark.

_June._

The darkness recedes, but slowly—this is the moment she always steels for, to grab on to it, she’s thought it is a sign that the spirit is at her weakest and she has her chance to bleed back into her body.

She realizes now she’s been wrong, and she is being taught a lesson. Enchantress is never weak. She is giving her a choice.

She takes it, but instead of tugging, desperate to claw her way back, she reaches out—literally, fingertips against the mirror— _suggests_ a part of herself to Enchantress. Asking some of her to stay.

She is darkness again, and smoke, but that’s not all; she is her own beating heart and thin skin. Enchantress places her hand over that heart, between their breasts, the heel of their hand against the breastbone. She slides their hand down, scratching that skin.

 _I never feel you_ , she says, or pushes into June’s head. _When I am you._

June... takes a breath. She can—her lungs expand, her stomach tenses under gentle fingertips.

"And do you feel me now?" Her voice doesn’t fight itself out, either.

 _What do you think?_ she asks, playful, something June didn’t think a being like this could be.

She slides their hand down, and June allows her—the choice quivers between them, a gift, she knows, not a genuine possibility of her overpowering Enchantress, but still there, offered. She wants this, is curious if hesitant, wants someone else steering fingers under the frayed waistband of the boxers she sleeps in, feel the hair and sleep-sweaty skin. Savor it. She’d feel almost bad for offering only this, if she didn’t know exactly how the sensation affects her. She didn’t think to find any joy in this heartless being, but this is it: a longing, a remembrance.

"I’d prefer the bed," she whispers. Her toes are cold, another shared sensation, one that fascinates Enchantress and is reason enough to let June crawl back under her covers, into the lingering warmth of her body. Breathing in herself, she feels her feel: the soft-worn pillow, the stubble of her leg hair catching just the tiniest bit against the sheets, the give of the mattress. June has grown scared of her bed again, though the monster isn’t under it anymore, but the old safety now returns, the lizard brain link with her ownness, her most familiar place.

She feels her own calves and knees, the slope of thigh, the bend of hip, the dip of waist. Back between her legs, now warmer, slick and open. She hasn’t been for a while now, too high-strung to even remember this would calm her, remind her.

She digs her toes into the mattress. She can do it, so she _lets_.

*

The vessel sleeps.

She curls inside her, lingering, invited, in the heat.

She feels at home.


End file.
